


Electronic Communicationis

by Evereaction (orphan_account)



Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Car Chases, Gen, Nakia is smarter than him, Okoye kicks butt, Shuri being brilliant, T'Challa jumps on cars, genius kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:37:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Evereaction
Summary: A car chase involving T'Challa that's all Shuri's fault results in Nakia meeting a young girl named Afri.





	1. Car Fugent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car chase involving T'Challa that's all Shuri's fault results in Nakia meeting a young girl named Afri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is Latin.

"Brother, watch out!" Shuri yelled through her comm as her brother narrowly avoided a pear-shaped missile. 

"It is you who should be on their guard," grumbled T'Challa as he landed squarely atop a swerving vehicle, claws digging into the roof for a brief second before he launched himself into the air, landing squarely atop the vehicle he was pursuing. "If you had not insisted upon making the network unsure-,"

"It was a  _risk!_ " snapped Shuri. "And I took it. Only risk-takers accomplish what they are trying to get at."

"But they do not have to needlessly endanger-,"

"T'Challa, focus!" yelled Nakia as the Black Panther twisted into the air, another missile darting past him. “Car chases,” T’Challa grumbled. “Why is it _always_ car chases?”

Nakia turned to survey the room she was in. It was in a large hotel in California, where she had come with Shuri to see the new embassy. The princess was currently in the other room, her partially set-up lab hastily assembled to assist her older brother- and king. The lavish lobby was full of interesting sights, but the three white men tied up on the floor were the only ones who interested her. She knelt in front of one of them and flicked them in the face. He flinched. “This is why you do not mess with Wakanda.”

“T’Challa!” Shuri screamed from the other room, and Nakia’s heart nearly stopped. Shuri almost _never_ called him T’Challa. As she stood up, taking a step towards the doorway of Shuri’s temporary lab, the lights suddenly went out. Seized by a sudden fear, she called out, “Shuri?”

“I’m fine!” Shrui yelled. “But I need to-,”

Nakia didn’t wait to hear the rest. Grabbing the metal piece of piping she’d stolen from the part of the building still under construction to use on the men she and Shuri had tied up, she turned and groped her way out of the darkened lobby and into the street. The silence was deafening, and strange for a car chase. Heart pounding, she took a wild guess, setting off in one direction. The still-unbroken silence was eerie, and Nakia tightened her grip, speeding up. Turning, she was darting across the wide street when a reddish-brown car, complete with Wakandan king clinging to the roof, screeched around the corner and towards her. She heard T’Challa yelling something in Wakandan as she dropped her pipe on the ground, dimly aware of its clattering on the asphalt as the car zoomed at a lightning-fast pace towards her, managing to shut her eyes in the moment before impact-

Only the impact came in the form of a small body, throwing her to the side. Nakia hit the concrete, rolling over top of a small figure as both bodies came to a stop. She lay there for a moment, dazed, as the sounds of car and king faded, then, remembering herself, threw herself across the ground, seizing her makeshift weapon, and leapt to her feet, breathing heavily.

“Whoa! Whoa. Whoa. Okay, um…” The figure who had presumably saved her life lifted her arms. Nakia tilted her head, observing. “You are a child.”

“Guilty as charged, I guess.” Before her stood a girl, who looked just a little younger than Shuri, her skin stretched out far too thinly across her frame. Her clothes were nothing to speak of; typical American garb, if a little worn-down. The false denim pants Americans were so fond of; they were ill-fitting, as was the shirt, so dirty Nakia could barely make out the letters on it. A sweater several sizes too large made the girl look almost comically skinny, and her face and hands were dirty.

“Look, I’m… sorry if I interrupted something, or… I’m going to go now,” said the child, edging nervously away from her, eyeing Nakia’s pipe. Nakia realized she was still holding it defensively and lowered it. “No, it’s all right. Thank you.”

The girl bit her lip and nodded. Then, as if coming to a decision, she stuck her hand out. “Afri.”

Nakia shook it. “Nakia.”

Afri shouldered her backpack, shifting her weight nervously. “Well… bye, I guess.”

Nakia nodded, watching the girl walk away. She turned and started to go back the way she had come when a man, darting out of an alley, held a knife to her throat. Nakia froze.

“Drop the pipe,” the man growled.

Nakia fidgeted nervously.

“Drop it.”

Nakia hesitated for a moment, then flung down the pipe as hard as she could. Hopefully the noise would alert T’Challa as to where she was, or Shuri. Judging by the bleeding gash on the man’s arm, the two had already met. Nakia gulped as the knife pressed deeper into her skin, the man’s face coming far too close for comfort to hers, when all of a sudden she heard a shout behind her. “Hey!”

The man growled, grabbing Nakia roughly and whipping her around to face the noise. It was the girl- Afri- again. She must have heard the sound from the pipe, realized Nakia. “Afri!” she called. “Run! Find King T’Challa and tell him-,” her words became a choked gasp as the knife cut deeper into her throat. Where was T’Challa when you needed him?

Afri took a step backwards, eyes wide, then dashed into a side alley.

“So,” crooned the man, eyes glittering madly. “Your little rat is off to find the cat. And when he gets here, we will get exactly what we want from him.”

Nakia swallowed nervously, trying not to move her throat. The knife was still in the cut and the stinging sensation was slowly growing worse when all of a sudden, a clang resounded in her ear and the knife clattered to the ground. Nakia whirled around to see a wide-eyed Afri, holding the pipe. The man lay groaning on the ground.

Nakia opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her hand flew up to press on her throat. Afri dropped the pipe and grabbed Nakia’s arm. ‘Run!”

Nakia snatched her arm away and whirled to face the man. “I do not need to run, Afri.” The man clawed his way to his feet, growling. “You surprised me once,” Nakia said, contempt dripping from every syllable. “It will not happen again.”

The man launched himself at her, but Nakia grabbed his arm, easily twisting it behind his back, then grabbing the back of his head and pressing his face into the hard asphalt. She looked up to see Afri staring at her. “Right.” said the girl, slowly backing away. “Well. You seem to have this under control, so I’ll just…,”

Nakia pulled up the man’s head and bashed it down into the concrete. She felt him go limp and stood up, dusting off her hands. “No, Afri. Stay. I-,”

“Nakia!” Nakia turned to see a wide-eyed T’Challa, running towards her. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine, T’Challa,” Nakia waved a hand dismissively. “But you really should be careful where your criminals go.”

T’Challa’s eyes softened as he touched her throat gently, then hardened as he turned towards the man on the ground. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” said Nakia. “And neither will you,” she added as an afterthought, just in case. She was glad of it when she saw the flash of disappointment in his eyes. Then he stiffened, turning to face the teenager behind Nakia. “And this is?”

 Nakia turned to see a frightened-looking Afri backing away slowly. “T’Challa, this is Afri. She saved my life.”

T’Challa tilted his head, nodding. “You have the thanks of the King of Wakanda.”

Afri’s eyes widened even further, her mouth opening and closing as Shuri dashed around the corner to join them. “Nakia! Where did you go? And who is this?” she asked, coming to a stop beside the older woman and her brother.

T’Challa turned towards Shuri. “The situation was put under control.” He gave her a stern look. “Though I would appreciate it if you refrained from _creating_ any further situations.”

Shuri rolled her eyes, but Nakia thought she caught a tiny glimpse of repentance in her glare. Nakia turned to address Afri, opening her mouth, but shutting it with a frown when she saw the empty street behind her.

Afri was nowhere to be seen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Adequate? Let me know what you think. For every kudos/comment, I promise to send you a virtual hug. 
> 
> Let me know if I should write more. I mean, I'm going to ignore you and write more anyways if you say no, so I have nothing to lose.


	2. Tollebant Ingeniis Excellentissima

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri is annoyed. T'Challa and Nakia are drowning in sexual tension. And a new character is so very done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voila. Installment two.

Shuri was a genius, but even she couldn’t figure out how to diffuse the sexual tension in the room whenever her brother and Nakia interacted.

She couldn’t figure out what was taking the two idiots so long, either. So she found herself thinking of the two with grudging respect. After all, anything that could stump Princess Shuri of Wakanda was worthy of respect in some measure. But there was only exasperation in Shuri’s mind at the moment, as she watched Nakia gingerly patch up the cut the stupid coloniser had dared to make in her throat. T’Challa sat opposite her, very obviously _not_ focussing on the information his bracelet was displaying. Shuri sighed, moving towards the front of the plane and out of sight.

Nakia hissed softly, and T’Challa cleared his throat. “Do you need help?”

 “No,” replied Nakia matter-of-factly. “I am quite capable of doing this myself.”

“Of course,” said T’Challa quickly, and she could practically hear him hesitating. “But would you… _like_ any assistance?”

“I’m almost done.” Something light dropped to the floor and Nakia sighed audibly. “Or not.”

“Here, let me.” The swishing of robes, as T’Challa stood and moved towards Nakia, affixing the temporary bandage over the cut. Shuri pumped her fist in victory. Well, semi-victory. _Finally!_ They were getting somewhere.

Silence, punctuated at last by a wounded noise from T’Challa. “The cut is deep.”

“But you didn’t kill him.” Shuri could hear the smile in Nakia’s voice. “I’m so proud.”

“Ah,” T’Challa responded simply to Nakia’s teasing tone. Shuri strained her ears to hear more. _Say something intelligent! Sweep her off her feet!_ On second thought, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Anyone who swept Nakia off her feet would be beaten soundly by said Nakia before being instructed to never do that again, and Shuri wouldn’t put it past her to cuff the Black Panther round the ears and spray water at him from a Windex bottle. She smiled at the mental image.

“I didn’t kill him, yet.” Shuri was shaken out of her musings by her brother’s voice.

“Still, progress.”

A long silence. Shuri wanted to bang her head against the wall. _Kiss already!_

“He hurt you.” T’Challa’s voice was deep and angry now, and Shuri sighed. Only her brother would turn casual flirting into an intense discussion about murder and revenge. Nakia obviously agreed, but knew better than to simply say that out loud. Shuri heard a shifting of fabric as she shrugged. “So I sprained his wrist, broke his nose, and gave him a concussion.”

Thank God for Nakia, at least.

“Would you have let Okoye kill him?”

A pause. “Perhaps.”

“Are you saying you prefer Okoye to me?”

“Yes, of course.” The reply came without hesitation.

“How very hurtful.”

“If it’s any consolation, she would follow you to the ends of the earth.”

“She would.”

“And then if you did something stupid, she would punch you. And if you endangered our people, she would promptly push you off the face of the earth.”

“I believe that is physically impossible.”

“Perhaps.” The word came softly. “But when has that ever stopped anyone?”

“What are you saying?”

“Your friends the Avengers defy the impossible daily. So why can’t you?”

“Why can’t we?”

Finally Shuri had had enough. She got up and marched back towards her brother and Nakia, who were standing uncomfortably close together, and sprang apart as she approached. Ignoring Nakia, Shuri addressed herself solely to her brother. “Brother, if you don’t kiss her right now, there will be footage of the King of Wakanda flying halfway across my lab on YouTube before the sun sets.”

T’Challa laughed, red-faced, and so did Nakia, but Nakia was patently awesomer than Shuri’s romantically inept brother, so she also said “For the sake of Wakanda, then.” and finally, _finally_ kissed T’Challa.

It was a long kiss, and although Shuri could have at any point begun recording, she was proud (and a little sad afterwards) that she didn’t.

It was a _very_ long kiss, so long that once they pulled apart and T’Challa noticed his little sister standing there, watching the whole thing with an expression of polite disinterest. Nakia laughed, and Shuri grinned, moving off towards the front of the ship.

T’Challa joined her a little later. Shuri’s grin grew as she observed the king out of the corner of her eye. T’Challa finally caught her staring and grinned. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your thoughts are loud enough for two voices.”

“Yes,” Shuri leaned in towards him. “Because I am a genius.”

T’Challa grinned fondly, turning away.  Shuri smiled. Turns out she _could_ diffuse sexual tension.

Of course, that was the exact moment something landed rather heavily on top of the plane.

And then a shiver ripped through Shuri’s body, and the world went dark.

***

Shuri wasn’t sure where she was, but if someone didn’t remove the bag over her head, she was going to puke.

Partly because of the smell, partly because _really,_ a _bag?_ A _bag._ Someone had obviously dared to kidnap Princess Shuri of Wakanda, and they hadn’t even bothered to do something a little more original than a _bag._ She snorted.

“If anyone is out there,” she called, “you could have gone to a little more trouble than this. I am the Princess of Wakanda, you know.”

Silence.

She tried again. “Hello?”

She heart a snort. “Welcome, your… royal highness, or whatever it is I should call you. What does someone call a Princess, anyway?”

“Like you’d care,” she called back, trying to place the snark in the voice. She tilted her head under the bag, straining her eyes to see through the dark, musty cloth. “You kidnapped me.”

“No, actually,” the voice called back, sounding faintly interested. “This is one party no one told me I was invited to.” A yawn. “And apparently, attendance isn’t optional, so. How’d they get the jump on you?”

Shrui frowned. “I don’t know. I remember something heavy on the plane. Perhaps some sort of EMP. But anything that could disable a Wakandan plane built with my technology would be…,” she shook her head. “Impossible.”

A snort. “Right. How old are you, anyway?”

Shuri stiffened. “That is none of your concern. Where are we, anyways?” She strained her ears to hear a rustling of fabric, presumably as someone shrugged. “How should I know? They jumped me. I’m kind of… offended, actually. I mean, last time I was kidnapped, at least it was a little more original than this. You know. Bag over the head, tied to a chair, the whole shebang.”

Shuri sighed. “So they did it to you, too?”

“Yup.” A sigh, then a tink as something small hid the wall. “Didn’t hold me long, though. So they put me in a cell. You know, I should probably have just pretended to still be tied to the chair. Oh well.”

Shuri frowned. “So you’re not still tied up?” She tugged at the wrist restraints, but they were bound tight. “How did you escape?”

“Cufflinks.”

“Cufflinks.”

“Yup. Turns out Armani isn’t just good for chicks and cars.”

Shuri furrowed her brow, turning her head towards the voice. “Who are you? You sound American. And rich, probably. And arrogant.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” said the voice with a grunt. A scraping of feet against stone, then a sigh, presumably as the man took a seat, then a series of quiet _tinks_ as small objects, probably pebbles or tiny pieces of pebble hit the wall. “Arrogant. Rich. American.” A final _tink,_ louder than the others. “Most famous man in the _world?”_ The last word was touched by impatience. Or perhaps annoyance. Or perhaps resentment. Not that it mattered.

“I have no idea who you are,” Shuri said honestly. “Or why I’m here, either.”

“Probably because you’re a techie,” the voice was loud again. “Like me. This cliché freak probably has some TECHIE FETISH.” The last two word were yelled, probably in the hopes of provoking their kidnappers into saying- or doing- something. A beat, then a noise between a sigh and a groan. “Come ON! ANYONE! Can you hear us?”

“I don’t think that worked,” Shuri called back.

“Yes, thank you for clearing that up,” grumbled the voice.

Then a blinding light appeared in the room, so bright it penetrated the bag around Shuri’s head.

A voice, deep and booming, filled the room.

“I hear you.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm. Arrogant, male, American, billionaire, playboy. Now who do we know with those characteristics?


End file.
